


Dreams Made Real

by oceaxe



Series: More Than You Bargained For [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's new business, Dreams Made Real, Ltd. is doing well. He enjoys making custom fantasies for people, but when a request comes in from Harry Potter, he has a tough decision to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Made Real

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to More Than You Bargained For. This one won't make a lot of sense if you don't read that one first, and this one will spoil the other if you read this one first. So do yourself a favor, read MTYBF and then come back and read this! Or don't! Live your life! Don't let me be the boss of you!

Draco’s morning was shot to hell. The dry cleaners had all but ruined his favorite suit. Astoria was asking for an increase in her upkeep again, despite the agreement their lawyers had come to not a month ago. And to top things off, he’d seen Potter in that cafe near the Ministry with some vapid little cockslut hanging all over him. Alright, it was obviously a trainee Auror and it was probably hero-worship, not carnal lust, motivating that sickening display of brown-nosery, but still. It was the principle of the thing. Or whatever. Draco shook his head.

He’d seen Potter entirely too much lately. Their damned offspring had decided to be _friends_ of all things. He hated the way that made him feel. He didn’t dislike Albus, not at all - Albus was a charming boy and a good friend to Scorpius. Only, it cut a little close to the bone. When he saw those two heads close together, conferring over the latest gossip from Ravenclaw, he couldn’t help but transpose his memories onto it, remembering. Remembering things best forgotten. Lord knew Potter had forgotten them.

He sorted through the incoming orders. Nothing interesting - it was all bog standard wish-fulfillment and vanilla fantasies of ego gratification. A tap at the window indicated a late-comer owl. Normally the post was in by this hour, but c’est la vie. _Let’s see what the owl dragged in._

He opened the parcel to find a rather pitiful little bottle swirling with a few pensieved fantasies, and the client questionnaire, which his fingers unfolded and then let numbly drop to the floor. It couldn’t be. He took a deep breath and told himself his eyes were playing tricks on him. He stared at the form laying face down on the wooden floor and steeled himself to pick it up. He couldn’t honestly have said if he wanted to find the name he thought he had seen, or not. He picked it up. 

Harry Potter. 

Potter had some fantasies he wanted fulfilled. 

Draco’s stomach churned with emotions he’d rather not ever face again, but it looked as if that weren’t an option. Fucking Potter. What the fuck could he need? Didn’t he have it all? His stupid ginger wife and his three overachieving children and his friends and the adulation of the whole fucking world? And he was nearly as rich as Draco by now, and one of the top officials in the government to boot! While here he was, another huckster trying to flog some snake oil to the sweating masses. Pathetic. 

But that wasn’t really the problem. The real problem was. It was. _Fuck. Just say it out loud._ “I don’t want to know what he wants.” 

_What if he doesn’t want me?_

_What if he does?_

Draco shook his head, then laid it down on his desk. He gently suppressed the knowledge that he would soon be cerebellum-deep in Potter’s psyche, torn between wanting to see himself in those fantasies and hoping like hell that he wouldn’t. 

“Cassandra! Three fingers of whiskey!” he called out to his assistant, who knew better than to obey demands for alcohol at 11 o’clock in the bloody morning. No whiskey was forthcoming, but a cup of hot coffee materialized in front of his forehead. He lifted his head and picked it up, scalding his lips as he guzzled it down. 

“Okay. Fuck it. Let’s get down to business,” he muttered to himself as he went to his work table. He pulled out one of his many pensieves and popped open Potter’s bottle. He didn’t even bother looking at the questionnaire, Potter struck him as being barely literate anyway. The real deal was right in front of him, swirling around like ominous silvery fog. He dumped it in, took a deep breath, and plunged his face in. 

He found himself staring into his own eyes. _Well, that answers that question,_ he thought, a smile breaking out over his face in spite of himself. His fantasy self, who looked frankly a bit less handsome than Draco generally believed himself to be, was in a nondescript room. Literally- it was fuzzy and smudgy, like a child’s drawing left in the rain, but it seemed to be a den or parlor. He was facing away from Potter, who was standing moodily by a … fireplace? Suddenly, Potter strode forward to grab fantasy-Draco by the arm and swing him around. His face looked intense, almost cartoonishly so. “Just tell me, Draco,” _oh and that’s interesting, Potter calls me Draco in his fantasies_ , “What are you doing here?” 

“This,” fantasy-Draco said, and planted a wet kiss on Potter’s mouth. They started caressing each other like they were in a Muggle romance film -something he’d been subjected to during his long engagement to Astoria, much to his annoyance. They tenderly touched each other cheeks and stared longingly into each other’s eyes and nipped lightly at each other’s lips. It was nauseating and juvenile. There weren’t even any hands down below the waist for Merlin’s sake. He raised his head to escape the insipid fantasy. That was what Potter wanted? Bullshit it was. 

Draco raked his hand through his hair and stood in thought. He was elated but disappointed, a curious mix. Potter still thought about him. Even though he never let on. And clearly, clearly he had erased all memory of the time they’d spent together. That night and the things they did - things Potter had instigated- had been nothing like this - this poor excuse for a fantasy. But Potter thought about him, nevertheless. Wanted to kiss him, even. Albeit in a stupid, sappy way. But it bore repeating: Potter thought about him. His heart leapt, damn the foolish thing. 

He was tempted to look in the pensieve again, but he thought perhaps he’d better read the questionnaire first. 

_Question 11: How are you hoping to benefit by experiencing a Dream Made Real?  
Answer: I suppose I want to know what it’s like, being with a man. What it feels like to do - things - with a guy, blow jobs and that kind of thing. Or kissing. Fucking. I haven’t ever done it with another man and I want to, but I can’t actually imagine it. Sorry if my fantasies are kind of stupid or not very realistic. There’s one in there though, it’s sort of a memory crossed with a fantasy, I think that one might be a good place to start. _

Draco hummed to himself. That explained a lot. Harry was confused and ignorant. He must have really done a bang-up job on that Obliviate, because the eighteen year old Draco had fucked had had a much better idea what he wanted than the bloke who had filled out the DMR paperwork.

He figured he may as well dip in the pensieve one more time, to see if he could dig up that memory/fantasy Potter had written about. 

Circling around to his work table, he placed his hands to either side of the wide, shallow bowl and submerged his face. He mentally chanted _memory, memory,_ trying to guide the pensieve to the right thread of Potter’s consciousness. 

He fell into a pub. It was much clearer than the parlor or whatever that place had been. This was clearly the memory, then. He glanced around the pub’s interior and realized it was one he was familiar with, one he’d been to recently. He had come here a while back with Nott and that chap from Magical Games, the blowhard who couldn’t hold his drink. He didn’t remember seeing Potter that night. He scanned the seats - okay, there he was himself and why had no one told him hair looked like that? Some friends he had. But where was Potter? Ah, over by the bar. 

Just as he located Potter in the memory, Potter turned and found memory-Draco. The look that crossed his face as he stared across the pub at the other man, the longing and attraction writ so clear, sent sparks along Draco’s nerves. He hadn’t known. He had failed to notice because he was so busy avoiding his own attraction. Draco pushed that uncomfortable thought aside as he focused on the scene before him.

Potter moved to a seat near the corner of the bar, hidden from memory-Draco by a large post. He watched as Draco left his companions and sauntered ( _Do I really walk like that?_ Draco asked himself. _Ooh, nice arse, me_ ) to the loos. He watched as Potter followed that arse with his eyes, and then the room went a bit melty as memory shifted to fantasy. Potter got up and walked to the loos, and Draco followed him. He had a funny feeling about what he was about to see. He drifted through the door to find the other Draco up against the door of a stall, Potter at his feet giving him head. Draco’s cock was out and it - from what Draco could see, it looked just like his actual cock. _Now what the hell?_

Potter’s head bobbed up and down and memory-Draco - wait, fantasy-Draco? Maybe best to call him Malfoy- Malfoy was moaning with abandon, head lolling against the door and eyes closed in bliss. Draco felt his body react outside of the sieve - he was getting a hard-on from watching this, no surprise. The scene suddenly shifted - the figures remained in the same place but the bathroom was different, it was the prefect’s bath at Hogwarts and the figures were slightly smaller and shorter, Malfoy’s hair longer, Potter’s wilder. Malfoy was nude, Potter clothed. This was them, this was a real memory. 

Malfoy cried out and fisted Potter’s hair and then the scene shifted back and Draco felt his heart clench. He was looking again at his older self and Potter, but they were still enacting the blow job that had started it all, had started that crazy day and night in which he and Potter had - had fucked. Had fucked, had sucked, had done it all. All of it, so hard, fast and perfect, and so many times because god, their refractory period was nothing. They must have each come eight or nine times. 

Potter had retained a shred of memory. It was his only realistic fantasy and he didn’t know why, didn’t know it wasn’t a fantasy. Dear god.

As much as there was a part of Draco who wanted to see himself come, he knew he didn’t want to stick around for the defilement of one of his most treasured memories. It sickened him that Potter didn’t know that this had actually happened. He pulled his head out of the pensieve once more.

Draco sat back in his chair, breathing hard. He couldn’t stop his mind from going back to that night. He and Potter had been dancing around each other for months by then and the erotic charge around them would have erupted into Fiendfyre if Draco hadn’t pushed Potter into making a move. 

\-------

They had been working together repairing the castle, and they had a running joke about who was stronger. All the true animosity between them had faded and this was just an excuse to check out each other’s bodies. They had been taking turns picking up the heaviest chunks of masonry they could lift and posing with them like strong-men, playfully critiquing each other’s prowess and technique. The dust of all those ancient, crumbling stones had gotten everywhere and Draco had proposed they take a bath.

“What, together?” Harry laughed, eyes shifting away from Draco. 

“Yeah, why not?” Draco replied, feigning a casual air. “Blaise and I used to use the Prefect’s bath at the same time. It’s huge.”

Harry looked at him curiously, warily, and then quickly averted his gaze. “Okay, sure. Meet you there?” 

“Be there or be square, Potter.” Draco smirked at him, and his stomach lurched at Harry’s crooked smile. He loved it when Draco used Muggle slang.

Draco got there first and started filling the bath, selecting a musky amber scent with low bubble count - he wanted to be able to see what was happening beneath the surface of the water. He stripped down and climbed in, already half-hard from the knowledge that soon, Harry would be in here with him. Naked. 

Twenty minutes went by and Draco was getting pruny and pissed off. Where the fuck was he? Disappointment curdled in his gut. The git was going to chicken out. Unbelievable. Draco got out of the bath and started towelling off at the bench near the stalls.

The door swung open and Harry sloped in, looking oddly poker-faced. Like he had something to hide. He saw Draco with only a towel loosely held around his waist and something visibly snapped inside him. 

“Fuck, Draco, I was only a few minutes. You could have waited.” 

 

“Disappointed I won’t be around to help scrub your back, Potter?” Draco sneered. The tense atmosphere thickened. 

“Yes you fucking will, you prick,” Harry growled as he strode over to where Draco stood, just barely holding onto the towel in front of his crotch. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

Harry ripped the towel out of Draco’s hands and before he could even think to protest, Harry was down on his knees, pushing Draco against the door of a stall and wrapping a fist around his cock. 

Draco’s head jerked back and hit the door with a clunk. Ah god, it was finally happening. He looked down again to see the top of Harry’s head and then felt wet warmth engulfing him, and the room spun. He had had blowjobs before, but they hadn’t been like this. Frantic, eager, sloppy. Harry was letting his saliva spill all over Draco’s cock and using it to slide his fist up and down while his mouth, his heavenly mouth, sucked gently on the head. He wasn’t going to last long. He fisted his hand into Harry’s soft hair to try to control the pace, but it was no use. Harry was on him like a steam train. Fuck! He groaned, and Harry looked up at him with those wide green eyes, with his mouth full of Draco’s cock and he pulled out and came, he came all over Harry’s lips and cheek, a long moan echoing through the tiled room. 

Harry sat back on his heels, wiping at his face but keeping his eyes on Draco. Draco couldn’t read the expression in them - he was too sated and bewildered. Had that really just happened? He slid down the door and sat on the cold floor. 

“I really thought you were the type to make out for hours and hold out on the good stuff, Potter,” Draco laughed softly. “Glad to know I was wrong.”

Harry’s gaze sharpened. “Guess you don’t know me all that well, do you, Draco? There’s a lot you don’t know.” He got right up in Draco’s face, angling his head for - a kiss? Draco reached out experimentally and slid his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him closer. 

“Want to make out now?” he murmured against Harry’s lips. Harry huffed a tiny sigh and touched Draco’s lips with his own, so softly, a gentle brushing and then a firmer press, sliding lips against lips until both mouths opened and tongues slipped past each other, meeting in the darkness. Draco felt his salivary glands kick into gear and the kiss got very wet, slippery and wild. Harry leaned into him, pushing him against the wall. 

“You really like having me up against a wall, don’t you?” he breathed into the vanishing space between them.

Harry pulled back and stood up. “Actually, I’d rather you had me.” He looked mulishly determined, but Draco had no idea what he was on about. 

“You want to switch places?” 

“No. I want you to have me. You said once, you’d have me. I want you to.” Harry couldn’t meet his eyes, but he was stripping off his clothes and Draco was starting to get the idea. He was glad he was still hard (he thanked his superior Malfoy lineage)- his cock jerked at the notion of fucking Harry. 

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, not knowing how to tell Harry that he didn’t have a clue about how to prepare someone for that.

“Don’t worry, “ said Harry, a fierce blush staining his cheeks. “I’m all - that’s what I was doing.” He dropped his trousers and took off his pants, turning to the side and angled so Draco got a three-fourth’s view of his arse. His breath caught in his throat. 

“Is that- a plug?” He barely remembered the word in time. Frankly, he was surprised he could still speak over the rising tide of lust that was overwhelming him. Harry had a butt plug in. Draco could see a tiny rivulet of lube tracking down between his legs. 

Harry nodded, looking mortified and hopeful. “You scared, Malfoy?” And it was almost funny, the contrast between the taunting words and the fear Draco could see in the other young man’s face. 

“Not at all, Potter. Where do you want to do this?” God, he was impressed with himself - by the tone of his voice, you would never have known how close he was to just blowing his load at the sight of Harry, plugged up and ready to be plowed. By him.

Harry grabbed a towel and spread it by the bath. He kneeled and rested his fingers on the floor in front of him, hinting at the all-fours position. “Here is good,” he said, his voice rough. 

Draco somehow managed to get to his feet and make it the few steps to where Harry kneeled, naked and trembling ever so slightly. He kneeled behind him and put his arms loosely around Harry’s waist, leaning in and smelling the hair at the base of his neck, licking the fine hairs and then sucking gently on the juncture of the neck and shoulder. Harry breathed out heavily and leaned his head back, reaching around and grabbing at any part of Draco he could reach. Draco ran his hands up and down Harry’s flank, feeling how incredibly smooth the skin was. He genuinely couldn’t believe how lucky he was. This felt like a dream. 

Harry pressed his arse back into Draco’s groin, rubbing his wet and slightly parted cleft along Draco’s shaft. If Draco hadn’t come just moments ago, he would have come right then. His blood raced and he found his hands reaching for plug, hungry to stuff his cock in the tight hole he’d been fantasizing about for months. 

The plug was tightly held by Harry’s arsehole, the ring of muscle clenched around it. He worked it in circles, causing Harry to writhe and moan on his lap and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing. Draco pulled the plug out a fraction and watched as Harry’s flesh clung to it. He pulled a little harder and it popped out with a moist sucking sound, erotic and filthy. Harry’s hole was loose and wet and Draco couldn’t wait any longer.

“Can I?” he knew he didn’t need to elaborate on the request and he couldn’t have spoken any more words at any rate. His dick was harder than it had ever been in his life, aimed at that wet hole and Draco couldn’t stop staring.

He saw Harry’s nod in his peripheral vision and lined himself up, head nudging the rim. He sighed with anticipatory relief and pushed in, just the crown disappearing into that dark place. 

Harry bucked beneath him, gasping and trying to get more in him. “More, put it in me,” he said, giving Draco permission to ram his cock up in there, which was all he was longing to do. He pushed Harry all the way forward on his hands and knees and thrust his hips, sliding his prick all the way, all the way in. Harry made a keening sound in the back of his throat and Draco groaned, low and long and animalistic. His hips snapped against Harry’s firm buttocks, building up a rhythm without his conscious volition. Wet, slapping noises reverberated around the room, as well as the panting and moaning from both of them. It felt like an echo chamber of their desire, finally spilling over into reality. Draco threw back his head and howled as his orgasm tore through him. He felt Harry tugging at his own prick and when he came, seconds later, his hole clenched around Draco’s still semi-hard cock, milking the last drops of semen from it. 

They collapsed on the floor, a sweaty, panting tangle of limbs. Draco felt Harry stirring beneath him after a while and managed to lever himself off the other boy. He leaned back on his hands and watched as Harry unsteadily sat up, then swung his legs around to dangle them in the water of the bath. He turned his head to Draco and his face was a portrait of the sun - glowing and replete. “Not bad for our first time, huh?” he said, then turned again and slid into the water.

\---------

Draco reluctantly opened his eyes and looked down at the sticky mess his recollections had left all over his trousers. He lifted his hand away from his spent cock and wandlessly cleaned himself up. His head hurt. 

He couldn’t help but remember how it had felt the day after, when Harry had come back from dinner and confronted him, wild-eyed and shaking. He was full of some nonsense about being confused, and something about his Muggle family, and being tired of never fitting in anywhere, and Draco knew, just knew, that Weasley had had a hand in this, too. He knew what purebloods were like, even the Muggle-loving ones. He’d never dreamed that Potter would be prey to all the prejudices that had plagued his life. All that work he’d had to do to accept himself and for nothing. Now it was all going bite him the arse anyway. Fucking hell. 

Tears sprang into his eyes. He had had feelings for Potter and then. Well. The Obliviate, and what came after.

 _Fuck. What a mess_. Draco regulated his breathing and pulled himself together. He knew he was contractually bound to deliver a charm. But damned if he was going to feed that desecrated memory back to Potter as a tarted-up fantasy. He picked up his wand and managed to separate the thread he’d just been immersed in and deposit it in a separate pensieve. 

He gathered the rest of his ingredients and notes for the incantations and set to work hastily, not caring about the quality of this job. He tossed in some standard plot enhancers and continuity charms, a generalized erotic filter set for homosexual sex, male variety. If Potter didn’t like his stupid, boring Dream Made Real, he had only himself to blame. And besides, the contract meant he couldn’t complain to anyone even if he hated it. He quickly prepared a charm base, did the requisite spell work, and within a few minutes had Potter’s Dream Made Real ready for final processing, which could take a few weeks as the spell work congealed and ripened. He marked it and set it aside.

Draco’s sense of professionalism took over, though, and he felt like he couldn’t cheat Potter of the information he sought. He wasn’t going to learn anything about him desires from the charm based on his tepid fantasies. He wanted to know what it was like with a man. He wanted to know what it was like with a specific man. Very well. Draco would show him what it was like. 

An idea formed in Draco’s mind. A wicked idea, an incredible idea, a terrible idea. 

Draco would show him exactly what it was like, all right. 

He took down another charm base and modified it with tracking spells, using tiny particles of Potter’s blood scraped off the signature on the contract to set the magical trace. There. Now he would know when Potter took the charm. 

And he would be ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bundle to birdsofshore for encouragement once again! I didn't think I'd be able to finish this in time to post it for the Birthday Fest at the LJ community dracomalfoy, but here it is, less than 24 hours later. Woo!


End file.
